Naughty but Nice

23^rd December 2010

 

You could see it if you knew him well.

Riley leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen, looking through a large crowd of people surrounding the table and helping themselves to brunch. The day before Christmas Eve there were a few more due to arrive today, the ones squeaking in on the last flights, but the majority of the family were now occupying the house and thoroughly enjoying Christmas the way they always did. It was happy noise and busyness, Paul was turning out potato cakes from the stove with Luath and Darcy helping out with washing up and talking with Lito who was sitting on the counter to be out from under their feet. And Dale was looking remarkably hot in a pine green shirt that set off the darkness of his hair and the line of his shoulders in a way Riley was privately enjoying quite a lot, and he was discreetly, efficiently doing everything.

He was listening to and handling conversations while he did it, and he was doing it discreetly enough that probably no one else around the table knew. But used glasses and cutlery were vanishing off the table like snow slipping off a hot roof, dishes were being moved around the table to within reach of the older members of the family who found it harder to fight through a crowd to get around the table, chairs were being placed by the people who hadn’t yet realised they wanted to sit down but would in a moment, cup mats were within reach of more or less everyone – if you really wanted to see Dale’s eyebrows move to stun, put a wet glass or hot mug down on a wooden surface, he was worse than Paul over that – and crumbs were vanishing almost before they touched the floor. Like a master illusionist with a tidying up fetish, and no idea whatsoever of how to chill.

He, Paul, Flynn, Niall and James had arrived back from London with vast amounts of stuff, some of which was really excellent stuff, the chocolate and cheese in particular. Luath, Wade and the others had arrived about twelve hours later, and most of them were still dealing with the jetlag. Flynn in particular was tired and grumpy this morning and had gone out to deal with the corral horses. His answer to Riley asking if he wanted help had been a short no, he wanted hard work and leaving alone, punctuated by a kiss that was both his apology and appreciation for the offer. Paul was sublimating it in potato cakes. And Dale………

Paul caught his eye across the kitchen, nodded very slightly at Dale, and Riley saw the swift message flashed to him. Help? Without embarrassing him if you can, love.

Yes.

Jasper’s hands rested on his hips from behind, Riley didn’t need to look round to know it was him. He felt Jasper’s chin rest on his shoulders for a moment, the warmth of Jasper’s breath on his face and the faint spicy scent of his aftershave as Jasper looked where he was looking.

“I’ve got it.” Riley muttered to him. “I’ll drag him out riding-”

“Go put outdoor clothes on.” Jasper said in his ear. “Layers.”

Well that sounded promising. The family room wasn’t much quieter than the kitchen. Riley jogged upstairs and shouldered into the fleece and sweater and lined pants they were all wearing at the moment to work outside. He heard Jasper bring Dale upstairs and give him similar instructions, and they met on the porch a few minutes later in the few more inches of snow that had fallen since they scraped it this morning, pulling boots and jackets and hats on. Everyone in the kitchen save for Paul was being too noisy to notice them go.  

“What is it you need doing?” Dale asked Jasper, leaning on the porch rail and jumping down into the deep snow in the yard. Riley followed him, not unappreciative of the effect of landing shin deep in snow, or that Dale was wholly unaware that he was playing. In the snow. By automatic habit, because around here he did that. The sheer cluelessness could be extremely sweet.

“Job up by the bunkhouse.” Jasper said, heading across the yard which was easier for him since his legs were longer. “We’ll take a look at the shires on the way.”

Riley followed them, picking up a handful of snow off the fence rail as he walked. It was white and shining, undisturbed since the heavy fall overnight, and it was perfect this morning. It crunched in his hand when he squeezed it. The snow was deeper as they got further away from the house, and it had drifted several feet high against the fence posts. The shires were playing in it. Riley loved to watch them gallop, Boris and Petra were dodging each other in a slow, heavy game of chase that sent the snow showering from their great hooves. They were thickly blanketed, a new bale of hay was out in the middle of their pasture, and while the door to their shelter was open, they were ignoring it and would until it started to get really cold this afternoon.  

The bunkhouse looked like a swiss chalet up by the tree line. Heavy snow covered the roof and the porch, the rails and the window frames. Jasper stamped on the porch to shake snow off his boots and pulled the key from his pocket.

“Get some of the snow off the porch? I’m going to check the pipes.”

The small stable at the bunkhouse held some shovels. Dale collected a couple and the two of them cleared the steps and the front porch. It didn’t take long; they got in enough practice at shovelling snow at this time of year that it was something they could do on automatic pilot. Dale was carefully knocking some of the heavier snow off the windows to lighten the load on the frame when Riley leaned the shovel against the porch rail, formed a large snowball and scored a direct hit on the middle of his back. Dale didn’t react in the least, just continued to knock off snow. Riley waited, knowing him, and ducked the swift snowball Dale launched straight back at him as he turned.

“Is that a snowball I saw whizz past the window?” Jasper inquired from the door.   

“Might have been?” Riley said innocently. Jasper nodded, closing the door.

“Good snow for it?” He reached down to feel – and straightened, shying a snowball straight at Riley as both his brats fled. Dale dodged around the back of the house and Riley ran after him, which was not easy in deep snow. There was no sign of Dale behind the house. Jasper caught him up, glanced at where the footprints stopped and glanced upwards, signalling to Riley to be quiet. Riley smothered a laugh and backed away, casually rolling another snowball in his hands.

“Dale?”

The snowball flung from the roof hit him straight in the chest, several more showered down and Riley heard the thud of Jasper catching several as he climbed up the porch roof and onto the bunkhouse roof. Riley walked further back as the snowball shower stopped, far enough to see Jasper capture Dale and roll him over in the snow to stuff snow down his neck. He could hear Dale laughing and there was nothing responsible or subdued about it. Jasper slid off the roof a moment later and reached back to catch and steady Dale as Dale dropped down after him. Both were plastered in snow, and both looked cheerful. Jasper shook his hair to get the worst off.

“Come on inside. And strip, don’t walk snow in here, the house is dry.”

“It’ll be freezing.” Riley complained.

“It won’t.”

They stripped and left snowy clothes in the alcove inside the door, which meant they were down to sweaters, shorts and socks by the time Riley and Dale followed Jasper into the small sitting room at the back of the house. It was one of the most protected rooms in the little house, the windows were thickly curtained and small in the stone walls, and Jasper had lit a fire in the grate. He must have lit it before the snowball fight; it was roaring now and the warmth was blasting out into the room. Dale knelt in front of it, holding his hands out to get warm. Jasper took a seat on the hearthrug beside him. “Ri, there’s a box over on the table? Bring it here.”

Riley picked it up. About two foot long, three inches deep, wrapped in gold paper and the kind of delicate ribbons that Jasper excelled at knotting. He could add art to parcels.

“It’s early for gifts?” Riley pointed out with interest, handing it to him. “Something for Paul? Is there a card you want us to write?”

Jasper took the box and then his hand, drawing Riley down on the rug with him and Dale.

“No. Go ahead and open it.”

Riley gave him a curious look, settled cross legged and unwound the ribbons. The paper parted. An ornate lid lay underneath, and Riley lifted it with delicate fingers. Then he and Dale together burst out laughing. “Chocolate?” Riley demanded. “You want to hole up in here and eat chocolate? Where did you find this much in one box anyway?”

“That has to be about four pounds of the stuff,” Dale pointed out. There was craftsmanship in the row upon row of individual chocolates inside the box. Swirls and coloured candy toppings, different shapes, different colours….

“It’s Christmas.” Jasper stretched out on one elbow on the rug, selecting one at random. “It seemed like a good idea.”

“It’s the best idea ever!” Riley chose one, still laughing.

Dale shook his head. “At eleven o clock in the morning, still full of breakfast?”

“That’s right.” Jasper put a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly pulling until Dale lay down beside him. He selected another from the box, bit it in half and put the other half in Dale’s mouth. “What do you think?”

Well with Jasper leaning on one elbow over him, he didn’t have much choice other than to try it, although Riley couldn’t help grinning. “Stop looking like he just fed you a live rat, it’s chocolate. You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about, hedonism isn’t illegal in this state.”

“I think it was probably caramel,” Dale said somewhat indistinctly, although it was his you’re all slightly mad voice. 

“Good.” Jasper selected another, bit that in half too and put the other half in Dale’s mouth. “How about that one?”

“Probably mint of some kind.”

“Mmn.” Jasper relaxed beside him, running a hand slowly up and down his chest.

“Oh wow, I just found a hazelnut thing.” Riley stretched out in bliss, sucking slowly and watching the fire crackle and jump. “Oh this is good. It’s the first time I’ve been anywhere there aren’t ninety seven people talking at me in two days.”

“Paul’s currently trying to cater for those ninety seven and he could probably use a hand?” Dale said rather dryly. Riley snorted.

“Come on, you do know how this works. He’ll tell the nearest person what he wants done the minute he wants help, and there’s a house full of them. They’re family, not guests. You don’t have to wait on them, you get to just enjoy being there with them.”

“Some of them are quite elderly.”

“You do realise they will kick your butt if they hear you saying that?” Riley helped himself to another chocolate.

Jasper selected two from the box and with care bit both in half. “Close your eyes.”

It was mildly said but it wasn’t a suggestion. Dale rather slowly did as he was told. It was something Riley knew hit his buttons. It wasn’t the first time he’d watched Paul or Flynn or Jas quite intentionally do this with him. There was a lot of trust involved in letting someone feed you, and there was even more with his eyes closed. Jasper parted his lips with one finger and ran one of the opened chocolates across his tongue, taking his time about it. “That’s one. No, I don’t want to hear what it was. This is the other one. Which do you like better?”

“If you say ‘better in what sense’ or mention molecular structures I’m telling Flynn.” Riley said indistinctly. That broke him; Dale laughed, fending off Jasper.

“Ok, ok the second one. I have no idea what either were, but the first one was….reminiscent of soap.”

“Seriously?”

“It was offensively lemony.”

“When does a lemon become offensive?”

“Well I largely assume that depends on what you do with it.”

“Give me the soap one?” Riley asked Jasper, who put the remaining half in Riley’s mouth and the other half of the preferred one to Dale. Riley lay back, considering.

“It’s not that overly lemoned. You got made to eat peas in strawberry airs and marmite before we got hold of you for pete’s sake, lemon fluff can’t be that bad by comparison?”

“Right.” Dale leaned over to search the box, located what he wanted and pushed it firmly into Riley’s mouth. “If you want ‘it can’t be that bad’-”

“What the heck is this?” Riley demanded, wincing as he chewed. Dale lay back against Jasper.

“A Parma Violet. You’re welcome.”

“Good grief, it’s like eating air freshener.”

“Told you.”

“Is there anything with chilli?” Riley rolled over to explore, took one out, licked the base of it and stuck it to Dale’s nose. “There ya go. Chilli served en cowboy, no soap in sight.”

Jasper leaned down before Dale could do anything, nipping it delicately off Dale’s nose with his teeth. “Perfect, thank you.”

Dale burst out laughing. Jasper smiled down at him, his dark eyes twinkling. The front door opened in the distance and Flynn’s voice called down the hallway. “What’s going on in there?”

“Absolute obscenity,” Dale shouted back. “It’s appalling.”

“Get your kit off and come and help.” Riley called after him. Flynn looked through the doorway. He’d left his boots and coat at the door and his face was reddened with cold. He took in the three of them sprawled in front of the fire and the box of chocolates and his jaw shifted in the downward tug of one of his real grins. Riley lay back on the rug, holding out one of the chocolates to him. Flynn unbuttoned and slipped off still slightly snowy pants, and came to join them. Behind him, Paul shook snow off his hair. Riley saw him glance past Jasper to Dale, his eyes warmed and he caught Riley’s eye and smiled.

Thank you.

“Trust you two to hole up with sugar and drag Dale with you,” he said, taking his own pants off and following Flynn.

“Dale was not unwilling.” Dale pointed out. Jasper smiled, hand still stroking up and down Dale’s chest.

“There wasn’t much resistance. Not really. We’re getting him better trained.”

Flynn took a seat on Dale’s other side, stretching out close beside him. Paul settled next to Riley, leaning around him to take the chocolate Riley put in his mouth. Riley shifted over to get his head in Paul’s lap, watching the fire dance.

“So,” he said casually. “Are we really going to lie here, in total peace and quiet and no one else around, and just eat chocolate?”

23^rd December 2002

 

“Darling,” I said firmly, and I may or may not have been holding a kitchen implement at the time – I think it was a spatula. He later said it was a carving knife but I’m positive he’s fibbing. “You can stop, right now, or this morning is going to involve a shallow grave in the woods.”

There are moments when Philip used to look thoughtfully at me, disappear for a moment and then return armed with my jacket and a handful of cash which he’d hold out not quite at arms’ length. These he would hand over along with the keys to one of the jeeps and a suggestion that I went into town and watched a film or had a meal I hadn’t cooked and had an evening away from it all. It was extremely tactful and very kind, but it may also have been to do with wanting to protect his brats from my head exploding messily all over the kitchen. I was younger then, I exploded more easily.

I do love the house full to the brim and the busyness of it all at Christmas, and I love every person that comes into the house so it’s fun from start to finish. But.

I had, that morning, gone into the family room and firmly extracted Bear and Gerry who had tracked muddy snow across the (mopped half an hour ago) kitchen floor on their way into the bathroom, and put them to work with a mop and cleaning cloths to return the bathroom to the state I expected, with a flea in their ears. I had also retrieved Miguel, who somehow, apparently, runs his own home, and explained about soaking wet jackets hung up in a pile which would never dry, and sorted the pile of equally soaking and snow covered jeans waiting by the washing machine which was working on the load of jeans soaked this morning, since it was knee deep out there and still coming down. Riley, who went through more clothes than anyone else because the novelty of serious snow had still not yet worn off for him and frankly I wasn’t sure it ever would, was responsible for about a quarter of them. The dryer was running on high since trying to keep people clothed to go out and do yet more work out there in a couple of hours’ time was becoming a challenge when there were this many of them getting plastered in snow at frequent intervals. I had presented Luath with the stain remover and the cloths and left him to supervise the sorting out of the wine stain on the rug and referee as to exactly whose fault it was, as Wade and ‘Lito were hotly debating the matter.

And when I took the car keys and a heavy jacket to nip over to Jackson and get the last few odds and ends essential to getting through the next few days, Mr O’Sullivan took them out of my hand and said if I really had to risk breaking my neck on the roads in this weather then he was driving me.

It was then that I held up the very definitely a spatula, and made the comment about the shallow grave. And a reminder that I was driving the roads to Jackson when he was laying in fields in New Zealand doing his homework.

Flynn merely snorted at me, ducked straight past my defence to snatch a kiss I didn’t succeed in dodging, and went to start the jeep.

Men.

The high school band were banging out Jingle Bells vigorously in the town square when we arrived. A couple of the trumpet players were right-note optional, and they triumphantly hit a high note and slid off it again, making me wince. Flynn locked the car in the spot he’d insisted we parked in, and glanced at his watch. “Quick, we’ve got an hour’s parking.”

There is a car park two streets away where we can leave the car all day if we want to. He knows it. I know it. I didn’t waste time arguing with him; in Flynn’s opinion there is no shopping anyone can justifiably do that requires more than forty minutes, and he regards that as him being extremely generous. I pulled out my list and surveyed it, since I’d spent a fair amount of time last night in planning. He was not going to hurry me; he could just forget that idea.

“Whatever you’re going to do, go do it. I have to grocery shop.”

“I have nothing to do,” he said infuriatingly. “I came to help you.”

“No,” I informed him, heading across the icy street and ignoring that he was gripping my arm as if I was going to slide over if he stopped playing the Neanderthal for two minutes. “You hate grocery shopping.”

“I’m perfectly capable of following you around and carrying bags.”

“Go to the library. Look at saddles.”

He held open the door into the butchers.

“We don’t need a ham that size,” was the first helpful comment he made. “No one needs a ham that size, you could feed Michigan with that.”

The butcher looked at me in consternation since I’d ordered the ham two months ago.

“That is exactly the size I need,” I said very firmly to the butcher. “It’s perfect in fact, since I know exactly how many meals I need it for and exactly what the stock I will be making from the ham bone is for, because I think about these things. A lot. I don’t actually pull meals out of a hat, they require planning for. I also need all twenty pounds of the turkey.”

“I could take out a mortgage with what that costs.” Flynn commented as I handed cash to the poor butcher.

“It’s worth every cent,” I said even more loudly and firmly. “Thank you. That’s lovely. Have a wonderful Christmas.”

Flynn wrestled me for the two bags and held the door for me out onto the street. “Stand here, I’ll put this in the car. Stay off that ice.”

“I am not going to fall if I take two steps without you.”

“These pavements are bloody lethal, stay put.”

Apparently magically immune from falls himself he headed rapidly back towards the square. The high school band was still going strong. A group was walking down the street, mostly consisting of truly embarrassed local high school seniors dressed as elves in stripy leggings and tunics, waving to the crowd and trying desperately to avoid the eye of their parents, siblings and school friends. I stood with the crowd and watched for a moment. In the middle of it a man was dressed in a Santa outfit and was vigorously ringing a bell. Which was more tuneful than the band. He was followed by a seven foot tall, two legged reindeer with an enormous mask head.

“Oh my God.” Flynn said in my ear, reappearing behind me. “Well that should successfully traumatise every small child in the town.”

“Behave.”

“You did see the shed they had in the children’s play area over by the square? The one they had marked at Halloween with the sign saying ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here?’ and told all the kids it was a haunted house? I just passed it. They’ve cleaned off the cobwebs and written ‘Santa’s Grotto’ on it now as though children lack any form of memory. Come on in little kiddies. We’ve got forty five minutes left on the parking.”

If I tried throttling him, he’d probably laugh.

“Fruit.” I said, determinedly ignoring him.

The Christmas lights were flashing over the main street, all the way down to the ski lift. At this time of year with this much snow, the resorts were full, the town was hopping with tourists and the pavement was crowded. I kept a strong supply of apples, oranges and lemons in supply in the cold of the garage through the winter, and I’d stocked up prepared for Christmas a good month back. Fresh soft fruit however, as opposed to what I bottle in the fall, has to be bought fresh. I wanted grapes to frost for the top of desserts, I had a pavlova in mind for tomorrow evening’s buffet which is always a bit of a special one in our house and I like to make it as varied as possible. Limes are useful for dressings, and for putting in ice cream bombes which I was fairly sure some of our finickier cowboys would say were beneath them as insufficiently manly but Gerry and Jasper wouldn’t care, and we have more than a few people in the family addicted to bananas and berries for their breakfast pancakes.  

Flynn kept his mouth shut and just took packs of fruit from me to hold, pointedly moving out of the way of two little boys, aged about three and five, who were battling it out on the floor beneath the melons while their harassed looking father was debating his shopping list by cell phone with whoever had sent him out. They were rolling on the floor and it had reached the point of grabbing hair and squealing when we went to the checkout.

“If people can’t control their offspring,” Flynn muttered, stuffing fruit into a paper bag as the cashier rang up, “I want the right to come shopping with a rope.”

“Go and look at saddles.” I ordered under my breath, preventing him squashing raspberries.

“You need help.”

“Right now I really, passionately, want you to go and look at saddles.”

The melons finally tipped over. The father yanked the boys to their feet, still wrestling with the phone.

Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright, the store music was playing. Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow…

“Screaming and hitting each other with melons…” Flynn added.

“Flynn O’Sullivan!” we were stepping out of the shop door at the time and I don’t thunder as well as he does but about half the people on the pavement turned around. I dropped my voice as much as I could, grabbing the bag of fruit off him. “Get your behind as far away from me as you can manage before I do something I’m going to get arrested for!” I saw the glint in his eye, and swatted him, which never makes a whole lot of difference. “And I don’t mean like that! Give me the car keys and go away.”

“I’ll put that in the car,” he said, trying to take the fruit. “We’re down to thirty minutes parking-”

I let him have the fruit, turned on my heel and stalked away.  

I needed a coffee. Preferably a lot of coffee. And to be somewhere not knee deep in cowboys. It was on days like this I really missed Philip who used to be very good at offering a well-timed hug and a sympathetic ear, having spent much of his life living with a particularly difficult cowboy himself.

It was then I heard the screech of brakes in the street. There was, thank goodness, no bang. I whirled around. The man with the two little boys must have followed us out of the shop. He was face down on the road, the cell phone he’d been knocked out of his hand and he wasn’t moving. The driver of the car was running around the hood looking distraught. I jogged as best I could across the road as most people in the street were standing in shock and doing nothing useful. There was the man; I couldn’t see the kids and that was terrifying. A second later someone sprinted past me regardless of the ice and snatched up the smaller of the two boys who had wandered on past the car towards the other lane of still moving traffic, scooping him out of danger. It was Flynn. As I knelt beside their father, Flynn swung the smallest boy to sit on his hip and grabbed the hand of the other child, leading them back towards the sidewalk. “This way. This way honey, stand with me.” 

That tone worked on every panicking horse and brat I knew. With the kids safe, I knelt beside their father on the ice. I couldn’t see any blood, he was sprawled but there were no angles suggesting anything broken.

“I didn’t hit him!” the driver of the car sobbed to me, wringing her hands, “I stopped as soon as I saw-”

“He slipped, I saw it.” someone else said behind me. “He slipped on the ice in front of you, you never touched him.”

The locals around here are good and mostly chilled out people; I saw whoever it was had an arm around her shoulders and someone else was checking the front of her car.

“He’s only knocked his head, he’s coming round.” I rubbed the man’s shoulder as he lifted his head, groaning. “Hey. Are you ok? Anything hurt?”

“Ow.” the man said from the heart. “Ow. Oh God, the boys-”

“They’re here, I’ve got them.” Flynn was crouching on the pavement with an arm around the youngest child and the other one beside him, and from what I could see he’d pulled lifesavers from his pocket where they always resided for the horses, had broken several into fragments and was in the process of feeding the bits to the kids to keep them busy, in about the same way he does with foals. There’s no one small or vulnerable he can’t calm, and it was working. With their father sitting up and looking more normal, the kids were willingly splitting their attention between him and the candy.

“Arms and legs ok?” I said mildly to the guy, helping him get upright. “Take a minute and check it all works.”

“I’m good. Just sore.” The man put his hand up to rub the rising egg on his head. I picked his phone up and gave him my arm for support as he got to his feet.

“Is there someone we can call for you? You should probably get yourself checked over, you were knocked out.”

“My wife’s up the street, we were…” he rubbed his head again.

“Getting the last bits of shopping?” I suggested. He grimaced at me.

“Yeah. Fun isn’t it?”

“I think your phone’s ok,” I began and stopped as I saw a woman in jeans, boots and a thick parka making her way down the icy street as fast as she was able, and she looked terrified. “Ah. Is this her?”

If the guy had looked sheepish before he looked way more sheepish now. The woman took in the kids eating peppermint with Flynn and came straight to her husband, gently touching the lump on his head.

“I saw the traffic stop – tell me that wasn’t you?”

“I slipped, that was all.”

“He was knocked out for a few seconds,” I told her, “Only a few, he seems pretty oriented,”

“I’ll make sure he’s ok, thank you.” The woman put her arm around her husband’s waist. Flynn brought the boys across to them. The crowd on the pavement began to disperse. Flynn’s arm came around my waist and squeezed. “Coffee?”

The street was freezing cold, I was even colder now from kneeling on the ice, and it came out before I’d had time to consciously think about it. “Oh yes please.”

I waited outside one of the many shop fronts dispersing hot drinks while he bought them, thinking that there he was, doing the exact same thing he’d been doing to me since the day I met him. Being ruggedly gorgeous, absolutely infuriating and the kind of man who turned shopping into a hell. While also snatching small children out of traffic, being there the second I needed him, and comforting a bewildered toddler with a gentleness that turned my heart over watching him do it. There is nothing about that man that is straight forward.

He brought me a cup with a lid and I leaned with him against the wall, taking a sip. My eyebrows shot up at the taste of it.

“Schnapps?”

“And cream. And a peppermint stick, obviously because what else would you throw in what’s supposed to be coffee?”

I grabbed his drink out of his hand and sipped it. Of course he had plain Americano. Since he wouldn’t drink something with a peppermint stick in it if you paid him. His dark green eyes laughed at me. On the other hand, alcohol and sugar were exactly what I wanted right now, and of course he knew it. He always knows it. I went back to drinking the schnapps. It did help. Flynn’s hand found my spare one and held it, his thumb tracing over my knuckles.

“There’s twenty minutes left on the car.”

Argh. I was going to kill him. I grabbed him by the collar and snatched a quick kiss instead. They can be infuriating, cowboys, and as someone very wise said once, there’s no re sale value. But I wouldn’t ever be without them.

 

The spinning seemed to go on forever. Riley, clutching the dash and the door, was aware of Dale turning the steering wheel beside him with a look of cool concentration as the jeep slid, then the front right wheel buried itself in a snow drift, they were both flung hard against their seatbelts, and the car was still. Dale turned off the engine. The silence was shocking. Riley, rigid with shock from the smash of a moment ago, struggled to catch his breath. He felt Dale’s hand on his knee, a calm grasp, then Dale was out of the car and jogging towards the truck behind them.

It was on its roof. The truck was on its roof.

With shaking hands, Riley popped his seat belt, looked blankly at the snowbank blocking his door from opening, and climbed out over the driver’s seat. Dale was wrenching at the truck’s driver door. Riley went to help him. The man was upside down inside, hanging from his seat belt, and the engine was still running. It took both of them to prise the bent door open, however long hours of hauling cattle, sheep and horses together made this easy. They didn’t need to exchange a word to get hold of the guy, shift his weight enough for the seatbelt to release, and then manhandle him out between them as gently as was possible.

Sitting on the icy road, he proved to be fairly elderly. Silver haired, thin, starting to shiver in the ridiculously below temperature of a sunny Wyoming winter morning on the white glare of snow, but his eyes were alert and clear, and while he was shaking, he gave them a rueful nod.

“Thanks. I’m sorry, the truck went out of control on the ice and I went into the back of you. I was watching the road, watching the distance, I don’t know what happened-”

“It’s like a freaking ice rink out here today.” Riley reassured him, “Are you hurt?”

“No, just shaken about.”

“Got a jacket in the car?”

“In the back.”

Dale was leaning through the driver’s cockpit, and Riley heard the engine cut out and the sound of the keys being pulled out of the ignition. The clutter of belongings dropped to the roof of the truck held a coat, old but thick, and the guy accepted his help to pull himself to his feet and get the coat on. It was a battered truck, and had been before it was flipped. Many ranchers’ vehicles had seen service longer than city ones did; make do and mend was a way of life out here. Riley stood back to survey it, seeing Dale doing much the same.

“We’re not going to be able to roll that back up, are we?”

“The floor pan’s buckled,” Dale leaned over the upturned truck bottom to examine it, placing his hands carefully on the smoking and oily metal. Steam was rising strongly in the freezing air, a white mist lifting from both their cars, and the smell of engine oil was strong.  “And the exhaust’s fractured, it’s not drivable. Where were you headed, sir?”

“John Dolan.” the man offered his hand to Riley since Dale had gone to look at the jeep. “I … had a meeting, but they didn’t show. I was heading back to Pinedale.”

“Riley Hamilton and Dale Aden, we’re from the Falls Chance ranch about five miles over that way,” Riley nodded in the general direction. “I’m afraid there’s no cell phone signal around here, we can’t call a garage-”

“The jeep’s drivable.” Dale interrupted. Despite the fact he had no coat on and it was perishing out here, he was laying on his stomach on the ice examining the undercarriage and he pushed briskly to his feet. “We can take you-”

Well to the ranch. Obviously. A warm kitchen and plenty of tea while the guy waited what would probably be hours for a garage to get a truck out here. But Dale paused, looking sharply at something beyond the jeep. Riley knew the look. Dale looked quizzical for a second or two, and then faintly impatient at something Riley couldn’t see, but then he went on in the exact same tone,

“- to the garage up the road. There’s a phone there and they may have a recovery vehicle.”

The garage was some miles further than the ranch. Starting to shiver in earnest, Riley shook his head and opened the passenger door.

“Come get in the warm, John. Dale, want to slide that truck off the road?”

The road was icy enough that between them they slid it on its roof without too much difficulty to where it was less likely to cause more accidents.

“What?” Riley muttered to Dale while they were out of John Dolan’s earshot.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“David.”

“Why the garage?”

“I have no idea.” To Riley’s ears Dale sounded more than slightly ticked about it. There wasn’t time to ask more. They got back into the warmth of the jeep, and Dale reversed with care back onto the road. He was – Paul would add that this was contingent on him having at least one of them in the car with him – an exceptionally good driver in this weather. It was why Riley had gladly handed him the keys to let him drive when they left the ranch. And it was typical; in this weather, this close to Christmas, this road might see a vehicle an hour. And they’d still managed a collision.

Flynn is going to go mad.

“Where were you headed?” John asked them. Riley glanced back to him from the passenger seat.

“Home. We were helping out over at a neighbour’s ranch, it’s a lot of snow shovelling for one person alone. Are you local?”

“No. Lived over at Pinedale for most of my life.” The guy’s shivering was stopping in the warmth of the car. “I was supposed to meet with my son. Up at that garage, actually. That was where we were supposed to meet.”

“He didn’t show?”

“No.” the man sounded tired. “I waited an hour. We hadn’t talked in a while – a few years. Swapped a few letters, he agreed to come meet me and talk… I guess he thought better of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Riley said quietly. The man gave him a resigned shrug.

“It’s my fault, not his. Christmas always seems like a good time to try and fix things. Sometimes I wonder if that’s a good thing or not.”

They passed Clara’s place, where the newly ploughed and shovelled driveway bore testament to their handiwork this afternoon. Some minutes further on, the garage came into sight. Riley was watching the snowdrifts at the side of the road and only noticed as Dale failed to turn in at the garage. John Dolan also glanced over in surprise.

“Hey, that was the garage there.”

“Where are you going?” Riley demanded. Dale winced.

“Sorry. Day dreaming. I’ll find somewhere to turn around.”

What? Riley gave him an ironic look. No, he didn’t daydream when he was driving. The man moved around the county like he had inbuilt satellite navigation; he went exactly where he planned to go with the same mathematical precision with which he handled the wheel in the middle of a collision spin. And ‘find somewhere to turn around?’ There was no traffic for miles, he could have done a fifty-two-point turn right here in the middle of the road without bothering anyone.

“You sure you didn’t get a knock when I ran into you?” Dolan asked him. “You’re looking a little spacy?”

That’s just his thinking about a What look; you get used to it. Riley was looking for something helpful to say to stall for time, when Dale abruptly slowed the jeep and drew it to the side of the road.

“Here.”

“What’s here?” Riley demanded. “Now what are you doing?”

“Tracks. Look.” Dale turned off the engine and got out.

“Take a coat.” Riley reminded him, grabbing theirs from the back seat. “Not Freezing Is Fun. Where are you going?”

“Is your friend ok?” Dolan demanded, following them. Dale walked briskly, some feet forward to where – Riley saw them, the marks in the ice of a swerving vehicle, and began to jog after him, zipping his jacket.

“Oh hell. In the ditch? They’d have landed in the ditch.”

Please don’t let this be Clara or Emmett. Please.

Dale was already climbing down the deep snow of the ditch. Riley saw the truck on its side and swore. “That’s Mac – is he in there?”

Dale climbed out over the hood, swiping snow off the window. “Yes.”

Riley felt for handholds, pulling himself up onto the side of the truck. Through the back window he caught sight of Mac through the snowy glass, his face alight with relief, waving to them from where he was sprawled.

“The door’s buckled.” Dale said shortly, “We won’t get that open without power tools.”

“Put your coat on. We’ll smash the window, I’ll get a tire iron.” Riley jumped down to jog back to the jeep. By the time he got back, Dale had managed to communicate through the window to Mac, who had pulled his sweater and coat over his face as far as he could. Riley dug the tire iron into the windscreen with all his strength, hacking until it shattered. With Dale’s assistance they managed to batter and kick out the screen until they cleared the glass and Dale pulled his knife from his pocket, leaning inside to cut Mac free of the seatbelt. Mac gripped his hand, Riley grabbed a handful of Mac’s sweater and jeans, and together they hauled him out. He was white and shivering with cold and probably with shock too, but he clambered down off the truck by himself and shook his head as Riley followed him.

“How the hell did you know I was there? I really thought I’d had it, I’d be lucky if anyone ever found me, there’s no one on the road today and I was right out of sight of the-”

He paused, staring at the grey haired man standing on the road. The man nodded to him.

“Mac.”

“Dad.” Mac looked to Riley. “Did he tell you to come looking for me?”

“I waited at the garage an hour.” Dolan told him. “I’d given up, I was heading home when I rear ended these two. My truck’s written off – same as yours by the look of it. They were taking me back to the garage when they missed the turning, and they saw the tracks.”

Well actually someone had sent them on if Riley had to guess. Coincidences tended to stack up like this when Dale’s Whats got involved. Dolan took Mac’s hand to pull him up the bank.

“Are you ok?”

“Bruised.” Mac turned his head gingerly this way and that, trying it out. “Nothing worse. I hit a patch of ice and the truck just slid sideways, I couldn’t do a thing.”

“We’ll take you home.” Riley told him.

Dolan cleared his throat, looking at Mac. “I’m … probably not going to get a tow truck out here today. If I come with you I’m probably stuck with you overnight.”

“You’re welcome to come with us if that works better for the two of you.” Riley said, picking up on the man’s unease, but Mac shook his head.

“S’ok Riley. That’s no problem.”

They dropped Mac and his father at the Yellowback ranch. Mac nodded his thanks as he got out of the jeep, the quiet and sincere nod of one neighbour to another in this place where people weren’t effusive but where they’d help without question or hesitation.

“I appreciate it guys. I’ll call Falls Chance and let them know what's happened and you're on your way.”

Yeah that really wasn’t helpful of him, not that it would have been polite to say.

 

The End

 

Copyright Rolf & Ranger 2021